


no use in trying to slow me down

by shinykari (meinterrupted)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: #coulsonlives, Anal Sex, Anonymity, Author regrets nothing, Bathroom Sex, Bottom Clint Barton, Community: kink_bingo, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, M/M, Roleplay, Safer Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Top Phil Coulson, shameless porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:04:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinterrupted/pseuds/shinykari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil gets picked up in a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no use in trying to slow me down

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kink_bingo 2012, for the prompt "anonymity." All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title and epigraph are from Miranda Lambert's "Fastest Girl in Town."

_I’m feeling frisky, you're feeling good / I guess the whiskey is doing what it should_

\--

Phil has been sitting at the bar for twenty minutes, just long enough for the baseball game to get boring. He's hung his suit jacket on the back of the stool, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and loosened his tie, feeling loose and relaxed after two beers. It's too late for the happy hour crowd and too early for the late-night partiers, so it's just him and the bartender and a couple of determined drinkers in the corner.

The bell over the door dings, and Phil glances over out of instinct. The man's alone, and despite the near-empty bar, he settles himself on the stool next to Phil with a quick grin. "I'll take a Jack and Coke, please. And uh," he nods his head toward Phil, "another of whatever he's having."

"I'm good, thanks," Phil objects, holding up his half-full Stella Artois.

The man turns to Phil, his smile playful. "I can't buy a drink for a hard-working lawyer?" His expression is so earnest, Phil sighs and gives in. "Excellent."

"I'm not a lawyer, but thank you," Phil says, as he finishes his beer, and hands his empty to the bartender.

"A suit's a suit," the man laughs. He drags his eyes down Phil's body, then back up to meet his eyes. "Good-looking men in suits deserve free drinks." 

"Too bad you're not in a suit, or I'd have to buy you one," Phil says, checking him out in turn. He's not classically handsome, with his too-wide nose and deep laugh lines, but his gorgeous grey-green eyes are ringed by dark blond lashes, and his tight grey tee-shirt highlights his chest and biceps in ways that should be illegal. Knowing that someone who looks like this guy is checking him out sends a rush of heat to Phil's groin.

He grins and winks. "Maybe you should anyway." Before Phil can answer, his eyes flick up to the television. "Aw, damn! I really wanted this to be a good series."

Phil glances up at the game, where San Francisco has a solid lead. For the next half an hour, he and the man talk baseball--he's a Cubs fan, for some god-awful reason, while Phil roots for the Dodgers. Phil buys him his promised drink, then another. Their knees brush under the bartop when the man reaches over to steal Phil's beer. Phil watches, fascinated and more than a little turned on, at the line of his throat as he swallows. He sets the bottle back on Phil's coaster, and his callused fingers graze Phil's arm when he pulls back.

Phil is a touch unsteady when he finally stands. "Be back in a minute," he promises, then heads toward the restroom. It's small and dingy, with only a urinal, toilet, and an old-fashioned porcelain sink that's more yellow than white. The door doesn't hang quite straight, and Phil doesn't bother to lock it.

He's washing his hands when the door swings open, and the man steps in. His grin has taken on a distinctly predatory feel. "Hi there," he purrs and throws the lock on the door.

"Hi," is all Phil gets out before the man's lips are on his, his tongue in Phil's mouth, and his stubble deliciously rough against Phil's skin. Phil groans and wraps his arms around the man's neck as he presses Phil against the tiled wall. He tastes like Coke and whiskey, and Phil's not generally a fan of either, but right now he can't get enough. 

The man pulls back, his grey-green eyes dark with lust, and cups Phil through his pants. "I want you to fuck me," he says, squeezing him gently.

Phil has been half-hard for the past twenty minutes, but the touch brings his cock to full attention. "I don't even know your name," he murmurs, even as he threads his fingers through dark blond hair and rubs shamelessly against the muscled thigh between his legs.

The man doesn't answer, he just dives back in for another kiss. Phil groans as he licks his way into Phil's mouth, an answer in itself. He untucks Phil's shirt, and the calluses feel so good as he trails his hands up through the sparse hair on Phil's stomach and chest. "Seriously," the man whines, as Phil sucks a love-bite into his neck, "I really want you to fuck me."

All the blood in Phil's body has deserted his brain for regions farther south, and he asks, stupidly, "Here?"

Laughing, the man does Phil's belt and pants so he can slide his hand into his boxers to wrap around Phil's dick. "Oh yes," he breathes, and kisses Phil again.

Phil may be dumb with desire, but he's not dumb enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. He unbuttons the man's black cargo pants and cups his hard cock through black boxer-briefs. "Okay," he says, trying to force his brain to work through the haze of lust, "lean over the sink."

The man nods and turns in the small bathroom, bracing his hands on either side of the cracked mirror, legs spread. Phil stands behind him, enjoying the view, before tugging the man's pants and underwear down to bare his ass. They pool around his ankles as Phil runs a proprietary hand over one cheek, then down a hairy, muscled thigh. He cups the man's balls with one hand and drags a finger of his other down his cleft. He gasps with surprise and meets the man's eyes in the mirror when he finds it's already wet. The man smirks. "Long-lasting silicone lube, though there's more in my pocket if you need it."

"Fuck, Clint," Phil mutters, "you're going to be the death of me." Clint--the man--glares at him in the mirror, and Phil bites his bottom lip to keep from grinning as he wipes the expression off his face by pressing two fingers inside his ready hole. His biceps flex as the man levers himself back and onto Phil's fingers with a moan, causing Phil's dick to twitch. "God, you're stretched and ready, aren't you?"

"Yesss," he hisses in response, and Phil wraps his hand around the man's cock and jerks him slowly as he slides his fingers in and out. He wants to take his time, to watch the man fall apart in the mirror, but they've already been in here for long enough to be suspicious. Phil pulls his fingers out and reaches in his back pocket for a condom, heedless of the lube stains on his pants. He finally lets go of the man's dick long enough to pull out his cock and roll on the condom, and the man's disappointed whine quickly turns into a pleasured moan as Phil presses into him. "Oh, fuck, yes," he chants, and Phil has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out as he slides in all the way.

They don't have any time to waste, so Phil quickly starts fucking him in earnest, fingers digging into his trim hips hard enough to leave bruises. Their mingled moans and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh fill the small bathroom, and in seemingly no time at all, Phil can feel his orgasm building. He reaches around for the man's dick, squeezing it gently to get his attention. When their eyes meet in the mirror, Phil twists his wrist and tugs, like he knows Clint likes it. Phil's too far gone by now to care about the role-play, and when he comes, it's with Clint's name on his lips, and Clint's cock in his hand. 

He doesn't stop jacking Clint off, not until he feels his cock twitch and pulse. Clint's arms give out as he comes, folding in front of him as he collapses forward against the mirror. Phil leans down to nuzzle Clint's neck as he gently pulls out, smiling at the tired groan he gets in response. 

"So, when can I see you again?" Clint asks, still slightly breathless, and Phil rolls his eyes and slaps his bare ass affectionately.

They clean up and dress quickly, burying the used condom under some toilet paper in the trashcan. Before they walk out, Clint grabs Phil and kisses him soundly. "This was fun, yeah?"

Phil nips at Clint's bottom lip. "It was. Maybe not all your ideas are terrible, Barton."

Clint grins. "Just maybe? Because I have a bunch more ideas..."

Phil shuts him up with a harsh kiss, and unlocks the door. "We'll talk about those ideas later."

Clint waggles his eyebrows. "Excellent."

**Author's Note:**

> Phil is a Dodgers fan because Steve Rogers is a Dodgers fan. And the Cubs (ugh) AAA team is based in Iowa, named, creatively, the Iowa Cubs. This is my story and I'm stickin' to it.


End file.
